


Suns and Storms

by Ramzes



Series: Spears of the Sun [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oberyn Martell did not just happen to be as he was. Scandals, love, and being burned were his inheritance, just as much as his black eyes and olive skin. This is a pre-series story featuring the controversial couple that had the dubious honour of parenting three individuals as different as Doran, Elia, and Oberyn Martell. </p><p>IMPORTANT NOTE: not really needed to read to understand the next two installments in the series. Just added it there for the sake of those who'd like to see some of the details in those two more fleshed out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When They Were Young

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of this story came after Riana1, a reviewer on another story, and a reviewer on another site showed interest in the controversial nature of the relationship existing between Elia and Oberyn Martell's parents. Before, I only intended to do a flashback or two. So, thanks, Riana1.

She died at dawn, so quietly that the woman hired to attend her did not hear a thing. Only the wailing of the two week old babe, protesting loudly that his needs weren't being met, alerted her that something was off. She rubbed her eyes and lifted the little boy from his cradle to bring him to his mother. Only when Lady Maril didn't reach out to take him did the first sparkles of worry appear.

"My lady!" she cried out, urgently.

But the woman did not stir.

Alric Gargalen entered the house about an hour later and stood silently at the foot of the bed, staring at the dead woman intently. The handmaiden watched him anxiously, wondering what he would do now, whether he'd be crushed or indifferent. One could never say with those Dornish lords. He had treated the Volantine lady with affection and respect and had been highly attentive during her pregnancy. But men often did that. They might not love their women but most of them were caring toward their bastards, even if it was only in the beginning. She had heard that he already had a trueborn son by his Dornish wife, so she didn't expect that his care would last.

Alric still stood without moving, staring at Maril. What had gone wrong? Two weeks had passed after the birth and it had been a very easy one, the midwives claimed. She had been recovering wonderfully – much better than he remembered Arianne recovering after the birth of any of her children. And now she was dead.

He had never loved her but her death still caused him grief. She had been a good companion in this last year that he had spent here smoothing thing between Lys and Dorne and he liked to think that he had been one to her, as well. He felt guilty, for despite not knowing why, exactly, she had died, he had no doubt it had something to do with the child and therefore he had something to do with him, too. He _was_ the one who had fathered this child on her when she had been just a young woman running away from a plague that had almost ruined her native Volantis, leaving her with no close family and no means to support herself. _If I hadn't taken her to my bed, she would have ended up a common whore_ , he defended himself in his head but it didn't sound so convincing, not when he was staring at the face of a woman in her prime who shouldn't have died and he had no idea why she had.

"My lord," the handmaiden spoke hesitantly. "The babe…"

Alric startled, taken away from his thoughts. "I already sent for a wetnurse," he said. "She'll be here soon. I'd have you stay here and attend her, so she could focus on him alone until time comes for us to leave. It won't be long."

The woman felt a profound relief. He was not a bad master, never hitting her and always paying handsomely. A few more weeks in his service would mean a few more months of meat in her family's broth. And if he stayed a month, she might even provide her daughter with dowry that could let her win a better husband than one of those drunken oafs who carried cargo in and out of ships…

Alric had already forgotten about her. He was watching his son, wondering what he should do with him.

* * *

Even before she was roused fully, Arianne Martell smiled. Something in her hazed mind told her that the warmth next to her was very special, that she would wake up to something very pleasant indeed... She stirred a little and then groaned, the events of last night surging to her mind. She had offered her husband a memorable welcome, indeed, one that she had not thought physically possible. Now she knew it was possible… but it was by no means recommendable for one's bodily comfort in the aftermath. There was not a muscle in her body to feel easy.

Alric's eyes opened and he grimaced, no doubt assessing his own share of consequences. They looked at each other and he laughed. "For the gods' sake, my lady, were you trying to kill me? One would say you have slept alone all those months."

"No," Arianne answered reasonably. "But not sleeping alone isn't the same as sleeping with you. Am I not allowed to show my husband how much I've missed him?"

He pretended to be puzzled, looking around dramatically. "If I see the man, I'll be sure to tell him," he promised and drew her near, wondering whether last night he had begged for mercy aloud, or had it been in his head alone.

They lingered in bed for a while until they were somewhat recovered. Not quite surprised, Arianne found out that the feeling of his black hair between her fingers was no less pleasant than the lovemaking itself. His long limbs wrapped around her tiny frame were something she had gotten used to pretty fast and gave her great pleasure. _If he wasn't my husband, I would have made him my paramour_ , she thought, smiling. Out of all the men who had shared her bed, there had never been one that she wanted more to wake up next to and stay abed with. When they finally stirred, Alric rose, leaned over to gather the clothing strewn all around and handed her her nightgown before starting to inspect the items lying on her dressing table. Ointments, potions, perfumes… it was all mystery to him, although he quite liked tasting them on her skin.

Standing at the window, he stared at Sunspear lying at their feet. He did not remember his first years in King's Landing – his life had begun here, in Dorne, when he had been brought here as a very small child to be groomed for Arianne's, then the future Lady of Dorne, consort. Arianne and Dorne – those were the two things he had grown up with. The two things that could make him gloriously, indecently happy.

Two floors beneath him, his son appeared in the courtyard and looked up. Alric waved at him and Doran returned the gesture, albeit not too enthusiastically. Alric was not surprised – he had been absent for nineteen moons and for a child of five, that was a lot of time, indeed.

He turned to Arianne who had yet to rise and dress. His eyes were guarded. "There is something you need to know. I did not return from Essos alone."

Her hand froze on the bedcover. If he intended to tell her that he had brought one of his harlots to Dorne, he had a good reason to be guarded, indeed! She had no doubt that he had not slept alone in Essos and that didn't bother her at all. But bringing a woman with him meant something different. Something worse. Attachment. If he thought that she was going to forgive an emotional infidelity – that he could get her to forgive it, - then Arianne didn't know which one of them was the bigger fool. She would not suffer from lack of pride, even if he was afflicted by lack of loyalty!

"I have another son," he said. "And I brought him with me."

Her initial relief soon turned to puzzlement. Babes needed their mothers, he knew it as well as she did. "And the mother?"

He looked aside. "She died a few weeks after the birth. He's four moons old already. I named him Elvar."

Once again, Arianne was relieved, although it was lowly of her. Not because of the woman's death – she was comforted that despite the touch of grief in Alric's voice, there was no heartbreak. The mother of this new son, she hadn't replaced her in his affections.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"I left him at Salt Shore," he said. "Until I can think of a way to best accommodate him… the best way for everyone involved."

Now she understood. It was not only about sparing her pride. Honesty was a big part of the welding that kept them together, with their unusual arrangements, but he had been hesitant to raise the matter of the child another woman had borne him when their own son had died shortly before he had had to leave for Essos, twenty two moons ago.

Banishing the pang the thought of that always brought her, she smiled a little. "I would never attempt to talk you into turning away from him. It isn't the Reach here. I find it terrible when men walk away afterwards and I truly expect better of my spouse. But somehow, I doubt Isanne would be terribly welcome to a bastard brought to her home."

For a moment, he stayed silent, examining her. He recognized the source of her pain for what it was, grief for their own lost son and not resentment for him having another… albeit that might have changed, had Maril lived.

"She isn't," he said. For all her makings, Lady Gargalen, his goodsister, was a woman from the Vale and shared all dislike and distrust of those born on the wrong side of the blanket. She had accepted Elvar, of course, because his brother had said so. But Alric had no intention of letting his son grow up there. He just had to find another place for him.

Arianne sighed. "We cannot truly leave him in Isanne's care, can we? She'll try to do her best, I have no doubt, but her best won't be good enough, I suspect."

"Do you have a better idea?" Alric asked as she rose and put the nightgown on.

"Yes," she said. "Bring him to the Water Gardens. He'll go there eventually, so why not now?" She shrugged meaningfully. "Children are not my enemies, my love."

He heard the unspoken end of the phrase quite clearly: as long as he didn't bring the mothers into their own lives, all would be well. And since he didn't intend of ever doing so, he expected no storms in their future. Not such storms, at least. He reached for her, got her rid once again of the nightgown that she had just slipped on and carried her to the adjacent chamber to share a bath.

 


	2. ... And Not So Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment on the story, you're the ones helping me to keep it alive.

In the beginning, Artos Ambrose had been unable to hear anything quieter than a roar of a bear, what with all this water running and splashing; now, four months into his stay in the Water Garden, his hearing had grown so keen that he heard the tiny footsteps even before the boy came into view.

He was quite surprised. As careless as Arianne was about the publicity of their affair, there were some things she wouldn't compromise with. He was to avoid the pools where the children played during the day. And since he was lodged in the high tower in the farthest corner of the princely residence, it was rarity that the little ones ventured here.

But here he was, a small slip of a boy, no more than four of five year old, black of hair and eye and dressed like… quite undressed, in fact. Artos envied him a little, for he, too, wished he could take his own clothes off and wander naked in the gardens. How did Dornishmen even function in this heat? And the Water Gardens was a cooler place compared to most of Dorne. Artos never wanted to see the Dornish desert.

"Well," he said. "Welcome."

The boy looked at him, smiling… wickedly? At the age of four of five?

"I have not been away," he corrected and Artos felt stupid. "So you cannot offer a welcome. And this isn't your home anyway."

"Are you studying to be a maester?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

The boy shook his head. Water dripped from his hair and dried on his olive body. The heat was such that water had no time to form a pool at his feet.

"I came to see you," he announced, confusing Artos even more.

"You did?"

Now, the boy looked confused. "Aren't you the peacock who doesn't belong here and will go flying out the door the moment things calm down? I thought you were."

Anger burned in him, as furious as the sun above. "Who says this?"

"My brother," the little pester answered readily. "And he's very clever."

"I have no doubt that he is," Artos muttered and once again asked himself how he could have landed in such a mess.

It has all started with Lord Mace's task. The one his lord had given him, of course, not a one that he had undergone himself. He had come at Sunspear to coin the treaty that would give both the Reach and Dorne a better chance to survive the harsh war they were fighting against the pirates on the Stepstones. War was costly and unfortunately, those left behind felt the consequences, too, so a trade treaty should be signed. Despite his youth – he had seen only nineteen namedays – Artos had a good head for negotiating and taking care of financial matters, so he'd been proud when Lady Olenna… err, Lord Mace, had chosen him for this mission.

He had met her at Sunspear. Arianne Martell, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon, radiant in her green velvets and those dark eyes, like black pearls. He had been incredibly happy when she had shown interest in him, had accepted eagerly his chance to visit her bed. And here he was still, four months later when he should have returned home four fortnights ago. He wrote lame excuses and wondered whether anyone home believed him. He could hardly write the truth – that he was the Princess of Dorne's lover. Not that it was a great secret, now that he lived in the Water Gardens. True, Arianne came to him in the tower and he was never allowed to her chambers, let alone the bed she shared with her husband, but such things were always known. Everyone in the residence knew who he was and he could say that there weren't many of those who approved. Dornish people turned out to be a lot less licentious than they were given credit for! Most of the inhabitants here, although unfailingly polite, always left him with the feeling that they didn't approve of his relationship with Arianne. They were Alric Gargalen's people. And sometimes he vaguely felt that the relationship wasn't what it was supposed to be. Sure, Arianne liked being around him but she didn't seek him out during the day, even when she had time to spare. Nights seemed to be enough for her, although she was now cutting even those short, always busy with documents that she preferred reading in the evening. Every so often he woke up to her lying next to him, yet being somewhere far away, in a place where he could not follow. Yet he had never known passion as hot as hers, in no other woman. And he had never felt this way about another woman, either. He wanted to be her master and slave at the same time, cause her pain and crawl at her feet begging forgiveness, humiliate her and sacrifice himself for her. His common sense had left him. He had no idea what he should do.

And now he had to suffer this urchin repeating his brother's words of wisdom. Gods, how he hated it here! For a moment, he toyed with the idea of getting a hold of the boy and teach him respect. But reason won out. The mite was simply repeating another's words, without putting any meaning in them. Artos doubted he even knew what they meant. "And what else does your brother say?" he asked.

"That you'll leave soon," the boy said immediately. "On your own will, or when my father comes home and my mother sends you away, or when he arrives and kicks you out. If he doesn't kill you first, of course."

Now, his skin was completely dry. Quite annoyingly, there was no sweat on his brow when Artos was barely breathing, although the heat wasn't the only reason for this. The voice was the little boy's but the casually dismissive tone was the one he had encountered on each of the very few occasions that he had met Doran Martell, only a few years younger than him but already someone Arianne looked with great trust at.

"Your brother," he finally said, "isn't as smart as you think he is."

Arianne's small son looked at him, his face lit up by a sudden grin that Artos did not like at all. "He is the smartest person I know," he proclaimed and without any more words turned around and ran back. Looking at him, Artos wondered whether this boy could _walk_ at all – he was like a small ball of energy.

* * *

"Oberyn," Arianne said, "is Oberyn."

Her carelessness annoyed him more than her son's words, for Oberyn could be forgiven for the mere virtue of being a child.

"It isn't your younger son that troubles me," he said.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Really, should she deal with such a silly predicament right now? She had just received a report about another fire in the Red Mountains that had yet to be put under control. The war on the Stepstones was at its final stages… Alric's last letters had been infrequent and strangely impersonal…

"Doran will learn," she finally said. "There are some things he still doesn't know about human heart."

This confession had his breath quicken. This was the first time he heard from her that their relationship meant more to her than her earlier affairs. He reached out for her and she decided that the documents could wait. She would simply rise earlier tomorrow and take care of that.

_Doran will learn_ , she thought once again. _In a few years' time, he won't even think about three possibilities. Of course I'll send Artos away before Alric returns. Does he really think I'll risk my relationship with his father over such a matter? Doran is too young but one day, he'll realize that a man like Alric could never see a rival in the face of a pretty boy like Artos._

* * *

"Should we bring him here, my lord?"

"I thought he was on his way."

The steely note in Alric Gargalen's voice made the man head immediately downwards, shouting orders and herding others before him.

Followed by his commanders, Alric turned his sand steed and started climbing the hill to the burning pile of stones – all that remained of the greatest pirate den on the Grey Gallows. The magnificent animal walked slowly, as if he could feel his rider's discomfort and made anything in his power to not disturb him further.

Feeling someone's eyes on him, Alric looked on his right and noticed the concerned expression of his young page, Arel Dayne. _Wonderful_ , he thought, disgusted. _Even a nine year old can see what a wretch I am._ He comforted himself that it was only because Arel was cleverer than a boy this age ought to be; but he knew the reality was far from his wishful thinking. The last year of constant war had wearied him more than all the battles he had taken part in before combined. With the transit period after King Jaehaerys' death, the pirate hordes had become bolder, attacking the Dornish coastline frequently and severely and leaving only corpses and burned lands behind. The Tyrell lands suffered the same raids. There was no way to leave those thrice damned villains to do whatever they pleased, so Dorne and the Reach had taken the unprecedented step to unite their efforts in getting rid of the filthy disease plaguing them. And as much as he hated to admit it, Alric knew that they had needed each and every man of the Reach they had. The pirates were not like any other enemy they had dealt with. And it was a war on a double front – smashing the dregs in their nest and resisting the attempts of the other dregs to come to their aid from the open sea.

Alric never wanted to see things like the ones he had witnessed in the last year. Those were not humans, they were beasts masquerading as people. But alas, they were _clever_ beasts. Clever beasts who had been fighting for their survival.

On the horizon, a ship appeared. Alric recognized it and smiled. The _Silver Lady_ had once been his own father's ship, before Maron Martell was able to gain recognition for his bastard son, before Alor Sand became Alor Gargalen and wed King Maekar's own daughter. Since then, she had sustained many repairs but she was still one of the most trustworthy ships in Dornish fleet. Now, she was commanded by Alric's own brother, Carral, a second in rank in the fleet – and one of those who had spent the last year circling through the pirate-infested waters to repel enemies, disrupt the supplies for the Stepstones, and provide supply lines for their own people. How they had waited the arrival of those supplies!

Standing a safe distance away from the burning stones – the so-called palace of Dagos the Good – so he would not be suffocated from the smoke, Alric looked around and smiled slightly at the sight of the young man, almost a boy, who now stopped his own stallion next to him. "We did it," he said.

The grey eyes glinted coldly. _He'll go far,_ Alric thought. His initial distrust of the lad from the Reach whom Mace Tyrell had seen fit to give the command of his army to had soon developed into respect for the boy's abilities and courage – in this order. Many a man made good soldiers but few were those who made fine battle commanders. Alric was fairly sure Randyll Tarly would be one of them.

"We did," Tarly agreed and paused. "I heard they caught him alive."

"They did," Alric agreed.

"He tried to kill himself, men say."

Alric's bloodless lips curved into a smile. "Bad luck, then, that his hand went numb."

"Bad luck," Tarly agreed, giving him a long look. "Is that your brother over there?" he asked, pointing at the _Silver Lady_.

"I hope he makes it in time to have a little fun," Alric said and sat on a nearby rock. It was unpleasantly warm but not hot enough to burn him. A wound in the shoulder that he had sustained weeks ago was still bothering him by not healing and giving him a fever and since their ranks had thinned away quite regularly, he had helped loading the catapults. Too few men on too heavy rocks, too often. He suspected that the constant overexerting of the last months had made his abdominal organs move lower than they should be, so now he felt a constant heaviness in the belly. When it wasn't a breathtaking pain, that was it. Sleep deprivation wasn't helping either. All he wanted was a place away from the world, a place where he could collapse and just rest. _Soon_ , he thought. Soon, he'd be with Arianne and the children. He had never longed for her more than he had in the nightmare of the last few months. She was not only a passionate bedmate, she was the one he felt most comfortable with. Just being near her would be enough… and in truth, he doubted that for a while, he'd be able to do anything but _sleep_ in their bed.

Dagos the Good arrived before Carral did. There was nothing good about him. But he was a courageous sort, this one, Alric would give him this. All grey – grey beard, grey clothes, grey lips that now opened to spat a curse upon the two man that he was pushed to fell to his knees before.

Alric gave him a cool look. Even with his hands tied, the pirate was an impressive sight, and strangely fitting for the smouldering ruins of his dead kingdom. Alric and Randyll Tarly had been in full agreement: there would not be a stone upon stone left on those islands, so now the men, sweating in the afternoon heat, were meticulously ruining hovels, houses, the small sept. Alric hadn't even known there was such a thing as a sept here. A long line of captives trailed towards the ships. Women and children only: none of the men would be spared.

"You fucking poisoner," the old pirate spat at Alric without a trace of fear. "What you did to me?! What was the foul mix you had slipped in my goblet, so my hands would refuse to cooperate? I'll have your manhood for that, I swear!"

_Milk of snake_ , Alric thought. _And milk of poppy._ He returned the level look. "I thought you would be pleased to have the same choice you gave to your own victims," he said. "Poison, or being alive while you're having them quartered, am I right?"

Dagos the Good spat at him. Alric didn't move but the spittle didn't reach him anyway. He smiled again. "Losing your accuracy, eh? I hope your tongue isn't affected, or else you'll experience both the poison _and_ the quartering. I do know potions that will paralyze your body, yet leave it entirely capable to feel what is being done to it…"

He waved a hand and the pirate king was led away, not cowered at all. Still spatting curses and threats. Alric slowly turned to the young man of the Reach who was looking at him so intently that Alric had the feeling he would happily grab a parchment and quill and start taking notes.

Carral arrived a few minutes later. The two brothers hadn't seen each other in over five months and in Carral's eyes, Alric saw the confirmation of how terribly he truly looked, although Carral concealed his shock almost immediately. _I suppose I look more like his father than a brother_ , Alric thought. Indeed, he felt that the years separating them were not eight but eighteen. At least this many.

"Well," he said easily after they embraced. "That's the end of it. We are going home. Finally."

And then, he wondered what he had just seen flickering in Carral's eyes. It reminded very much of… fear.

* * *

_I swear, I'll give this woman a beating she'll never forget_ , Carral thought for maybe a tenth time as they rode in the sweltering heat. _Or at least, I'll cut her tongue out – after having her sticking it out voluntarily!_

He'd do no such thing, of course, and he knew it. Ranna was not to blame. He should have known that after evading Alric's questions, his brother would focus on someone who was more likely to give him answers. Very few people had the strength to resist when he landed the sheer force of his will upon them, and Carral's wife was not one of them. Besides, she had been against hiding the truth from Alric from the very beginning. _Don't you think he'd want to know that she's brought the lad to their home_ , she had insisted. _He'd want to know that she's humiliating him, wouldn't he?_

Yes, to the seven hells, Alric would. But the timing had been terrible. This war had been not the moment to appraise him. The problem was, the end of it had not been the moment either. Carral had never seen his brother in such a state. He had been sharing the difficulties of his men-at-arms – and had been burdened with more responsibilities than any of them. Carral had seen no good way to get out of this – but the Seven help him, Ranna's way had been a terrible one!

Alric rode silently – as much as out of anger with him as sensible effort to save his strength, Carral suspected. Gods, he needed a good rest himself! But of course, he could not let Alric go there alone – or with companions who wouldn't dare interfere between him and Arianne. In this moment, Alric was capable of killing her upon the spot if he saw that Ranna's words were true. Unfortunately, they were.

Carral was almost sorry for not sending a raven to the Water Gardens to warn Arianne of what was going on. But if he did, his brother would never forgive him. Now that he hadn't…

"She wouldn't," Alric suddenly said. "Not bedding him, of course, I have no doubt that she is. But she would not flaunt him before Sunspear. She wouldn't take him to the Water Gardens."

_He sounds like he's trying to convince himself_ , the young man thought.

Finally, the great gates of the princely residence appeared before them and Carral urged his sand steed forward, for he was afraid that the guards would not know Alric, so changed he was.

"Open up!" he yelled and immediately wished that they wouldn't.

His wish was not granted, just like he knew. The gates slowly opened and their party moved forward.

 


	3. As Smooth as Rough Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks to everyone for reviewing!

As they rode into the first yard, Alric saw the astounded faces staring at him. He hadn't been expected and he didn't look like the man who had left the Water Gardens about a year ago. Out of habit, he stood straighter and lifted his chin, trying to give whatever impression of his usual vitality he could and the haughty inscrutability a man in his position couldn't have survived about. He wasn't surprised when haughtiness came to him easier than vitality.

Carral rose slightly in his saddle and held up a hand to command attention. "Victory!" he cried out. "The pirates are no more. Their dens were burned to the ground and their filthy leaders are now suffering their punishment in the deepest of the seven hells!"

Leaving them to shout and rejoice, and spread the great news around about the same time the Princess' Council was probably being summoned to be appraised of it in Sunspear, he turned to his brother. Alric looked extremely wan and worn out. Only the steel that passed for his will held him in the saddle since Carral knew that the hard ride could not have soothed the back pains his brother had also developed in the last year.

"Wait," he said in low voice as he dismounted. "Don't try to do it on your own."

Alric grinded his teeth but he knew that should he try to dismount on his own, he might find himself flat on his face, for all the cooperation Flame was giving him. _Won't this damned stomach go back up in place already?_ Blessed with robust health until a year ago, he had always scoffed at the idea that he should be serving his body and making it feel comfortable. Now he realized that maybe he ought to have done a little serving. Then again, how could he have achieved it while besieging the beasts? He leaned heavily against Carral and felt relief upon finding himself safely aground.

Filled with dark foreboding as they walked towards the inner parts of the residence, Carral nonetheless smiled when he heard the noise the children were producing around the pools, and tried to single his own children's voices out. Alric also smiled and did the same.

The castellan of the Water Gardens dragged himself heavily toward them. Carral had known the short plump man for years, knew his boundless energy. Now, though, he was walking so slowly that Carral wondered whether he hoped they'd disappear somehow before he reached them. "My lord," Ser Gotfred said in a low voice, making an equally low bow. "Welcome home. I'll summon the Princess…"

The way the man avoided his eyes told Alric all he needed to know. Maybe he had already known it, since the moment he first spoke of home and Carral averted his eyes. Why else would he have descended upon poor Ranna like this? It had been as if he had been pulling a tooth out of her mouth, so reluctant she had been to tell him anything. But now he discovered that he didn't need to ask anyone else about anything. Ser Gotfred's pale, horrified face was an answer in itself.

"There is no need," Alric said in a low voice, so only the castellan would hear him. "I'll find her on my own… as well as him."

"I can… I can fetch him for you, my lord," Ser Gotfred suggested eagerly. Maybe if the boy was brought to Lord Alric like the guilty party he was, bloodshed could still be avoided. He wasn't sure, though. His lady had never installed another man in her home. Maybe he was important enough for her to fight her husband over him. Maybe this insolent lad from the Reach would be the one who could put an end to Lady Arianne's lifelong devotion to her husband, one that the castellan found unexplainable, given all the men who had passed through her bed.

"There's no need," Alric said curtly. "I can still find someone in those Gardens. As rumour has it, he isn't exactly trying to stay unnoticeable."

Their men looked between him and Carral, silently asking for instructions what they should be doing now. "Feed our men," Carral told the castellan. "And the horses. And," he added in a low voice, "have some new horses prepared for us."

He wanted everything to be ready just in case. Then, he hurried after his brother and fell in step.

"You can go away," Alric said without looking at him. "Go to the pools. I know you're as eager to see your children as I am to see mine."

_I'd rather make sure yours aren't left motherless_ , Carral thought. He had never seen his brother like this. But then, Arianne had never made such a colossal blunder either.

A fast look showed them that there were only children around the pools. Without hesitation, Alric headed for the place someone not used to the heat in Dorne was most likely to pass the afternoons – the small wood near the walls in the far end of the grounds, near the place where the springs feeding the pools issued from.

The walk was a long one, for the Water Gardens was not a small dwelling. Right now, Carral wished it was longer.

_I used to take Ranna here for walks_ , he remembered. He knew that Alric and Arianne also liked coming here on their own – or had liked? He looked at his brother's stony profile and wondered whether Alric would ever see the forest, the pools, the Water Gardens the same way again.

"Are you carrying tidings for the war?"

They turned around and faced the young man who had come into view. Dressed in a light tunic and breeches, he had left his fair hair flow freely. Clearly, he had recently practiced with someone, for he was still adjusting the scabbard of his sword to his belt. _Playing at war_ , Alric and Carral both thought, the memory of the very real war they had carried out plaguing them with power that had yet to abate. Alric could vividly imagine what other games he was playing at! He was acutely aware that at the moment, he could offer Arianne none of it even if he wanted to – which he didn't. In this moment, his only desire was to close his hands about her throat and squeeze! But the fact remained that he could give her nothing in bed, that he was unable to meet her passion, that he just needed to feel the warmth of her near him, to be held and made much of. Pathetic.

The newcomer looked at them and frowned. "Have you got lost?"

"No," Alric said so evenly that Carral startled. "But maybe you have."

Something about his lack of expression startled the boy, too. And he was a boy. _Just a few years older than Doran_ , they thought.

The burst of anger was so swift that Alric's hand was on the hilt of his own sword before he realized what was going on. Artos Ambrose did the same, his eyes narrowed, watchful, and baffled.

"Father! Uncle!"

They all turned to the boy who came running from between the marble columns of the garden.

"I saw you from the pools," Oberyn explained breathlessly as he came to a halt before them. "Why didn't you come?"

Now, Artos Ambrose drew his blade out fully; suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion that he had never felt before in his thirty-odd years on this earth, Alric pushed his own back in. He couldn't kill the boy in front of Oberyn; and when his son looked at him expectantly, he realized that he couldn't give him the usual greeting. He could not grab him and throw him in the air – should he lean over, he'd just crumble and stay there, as much from the pains wracking his body as the sense of betrayal that had numbed his limbs and was slowly making his icy way into his soul.

"Father?" Oberyn said again and there was fear in his voice, confusion in his eyes. He could see how changed his father was and he didn't understand what was going on.

"Go to your mother," Alric said in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. "I'll send for you soon."

His son didn't move, paralyzed with fear, although he could not possibly understand what was going on. Arianne would come soon – and all of a sudden, Alric felt a deep fear gripping him, breaking the numbness. Should he see her, he'd do something he'd regret till the end of his life.

"I…" the boy started.

Alric didn't pay him any mind. He just turned and walked away, leaving both Carral and the Reach boy stunned. A moment later, Carral hurried after him. Oberyn stayed where he was, staring after them, before turning to look at Artos Ambrose. "See?" he said. "You must leave now. Finally."

* * *

"Impossible!"

Arianne burst from her chair and descended upon the castellan who stepped back fearfully. But the horror written on his face told her that it was not only possible but reality. The news of the end of the war had reached her barely minutes ago and she had started making preparations… one of which was sending Artos to pack off as soon as he returned. Alric had not been supposed to return first.

_He's going to be very angry_ , she thought. Up until now, they had never flaunted their affairs in front of each other. But maybe there was still time… The Water Gardens was a big residence. She could still avoid a meeting between Alric and Artos. But Ser Gotfred's expression was a sign that there was no time. Alric already knew what had transpired here in his absence – and he was clearly not taking it well. But then, why would he? Arianne knew his pride better than anyone else. _I should have been more discreet_ , she thought regretfully. Now, she'd need time to work things out with him. A furious quarrel was not how she wanted to greet him after a year and eighteen days of parting but she couldn't see how it could be avoided.

"Bring my lord here," she ordered.

The man looked at her confused. "Which lord?"

Now, it was Arianne's turn to be confused, and then her anger lashed out on the poor castellan's head. "What do you mean, which lord? What would I do with that lad? Bring my lord here immediately!"

He gave her a long hopeless look. "My lord is gone," he said and in reply to her look of stunned incomprehension said it once again. "Lord Alric and his brother, and their people… they left the Water Gardens a few minutes ago. He only said that he'd send for Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn to be brought to him later."

The shock jolted her body with such force that she had to reach for the nearest chair and steady herself. "He's gone? How?"

"He refused to stay even to take refreshments which he clearly needs desperately," Ser Gotfred explained. "He… he came to see…"

"I see." Arianne's voice was low and shaking. "Thank you, Ser Gotfred. You may go."

Alone in her study, she sank down in a chair and tried to think of a way to make things right. She had never thought that Alric might object to her bringing Artos here – it wasn't as if she had been planning to keep him around after her husband's return. When she had Alric, she didn't need anyone else. Surely he understood it, knew that the affair meant nothing for their marriage? But the castellan's words haunted her nonetheless, his confusion as to who "her lord" was. Had others taken it this way, too? Had Alric? _I went too far_ , she realized and felt that her teeth started to clatter. She looked at the door, hoping that Ser Gotfred had been wrong, that her husband would enter any minute now, shaking with rage. But he didn't.

_He'd send for Princess Elia and Prince Oberyn to be brought to him later._

Her heart sank.

_He couldn't have meant it. He couldn't have._ Even in their worst quarrels, he had never turned his back on her. He had always been at her side, even when all they did was fight.

Arianne raised a shaking hand to wipe the cold sweat from her brow. Her skin met something rustling. The tidings of the victory that she still held. The news that the pirates had been finally defeated. It all looked so bleak now compared to the danger looming over her. _I can't lose him. I can't._ Alric who had shared her life since childhood, Alric with his haughtiness, pride, sharp wit, and devotion to her. She couldn't lose him. No. Anything but that.

Surely he wouldn't let a single mistake tear them apart? A single blow to his pride, no matter how great, could not be enough to make him turn away from her?

_He's just stunned_ , she thought and felt a little better. _He didn't expect it._ _Soon, his numbness will pass and he'll barge in here to have it out with me._

Little did she know that in this moment, Carral Gargalen was looking at his brother in horror, praying that they'd make it to Salt Shore without Alric passing out, and insisting that they return to the Water Gardens where Alric could be attended.

Alric didn't even bother to give him a look. "Forget about it," he spat. "I know what you're thinking about and no, if I do pass out, you do not get to make the decisions. Conscious or not, I am not going back there. Maybe now you'll hurry up?"

 


	4. The Great Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left a comment, it means more than you know.

A storm. _A really fitting event to crown the day_ , Carral thought, angry and disbelieving. He could count up on his fingers the times he had seen such a fury from the sky in Dorne, and he'd still have enough fingers left to make a rude gesture. But now the dome above them had split up, gracing them with darkness in midday, roaring wind and downpour that made Carral remember some of the gales he had experienced in the sea. The smooth road running alongside the seashore was quickly becoming almost impossible to negotiate. In the distance, the Narrow Sea hissed and screamed and Carral prayed that the people from the villages around would have the presence of mind to climb into the hills, just in case. His mariner nose told him that the icy air they were breathing was way too salty. Even the breakwater in Sunspear might yield.

"We should have gone back," one of their knights muttered and Carral gave him a dark look.

"Well, it's too late for that now," he snapped. "We can only go forward. The storm is worse behind us. Salt Shore isn't that far."

Their horses were constantly slipping and falling. Cursing, Carral reached out and took Flame's bridle, for Alric was no longer capable of controlling him. "Here," Carral said, speaking to both man and horse, for the icy wind and cascade of rain had left his brother shivering and heightened his fever. He was not fully there now, so Carral tried to soothe him just as he did the mindless horse. "Come here," he said and made Flame stop, so he could climb behind Alric. Ser Ilon Redsand took Carral's own Nightheart by the reins.

Alric stirred slowly and Carral felt the shivers in his body. "I am sorry," Alric murmured. "I shouldn't have dragged all of you into this storm."

"It isn't as if you knew there would be a storm," Carral said reasonably. "Stay still now."

Alric did, if only because leaning back against Carral and closing his eyes was easier than staying awake. Flame, though, went rampant and there was no way for Carral to control him, not with one hand. Somehow, the stallion knew that his rider wasn't the one who held the reins and he proved unwilling to take commands from anyone else.

"Warrior's balls," Carral cursed. "I am not trying to harm him, I am trying to help him. See?"

But this appeal to Flame's reasoning proved barren; with a new curse, Carral went back on Nightheart and wrapped an arm about Alric's waist, trying to keep him stable. Flame agreed to this compromise, at least, and their party went on in the downpour the gods had seen fitting to grace Dorne with.

With each step, the road became worse. The roaring of the sea could be heard more clearly; more than once, Carral wondered whether he'd find his end in the wet grave earlier than expected and not even in the open sea. Alric was getting more and more silent, fighting to stay awake and failing. His shivering was getting worse. Carral held him and cursed in his head Arianne's carelessness, Alric's hot blood, those weird arrangements of theirs that he could not understand fifteen years into their marriage and the fact that at the end, even they had proved unable to understand said arrangements…

The few hours of traveling turned into twelve hours of torment. It was almost midnight when they finally reached Salt Shore. Mikkel rushed out into the bailey, helped Carral take Alric down and in the building, rose the servants from their sleep to feed and lodge men and horses, and brought some hot wine to the bedchamber where Carral was already taking their brother's clothing off.

A shower of puss and blood burst out from the angry wound in scarlet and grey on Alric's shoulder. The area around it was red and irritated. By the look of it, the wound was not a fresh one. It should have started healing long ago and it hadn't.

Alric didn't even stir, just kept looking ahead with too bright eyes. Carral and Mikkel exchanged a look of horror at the profound gauntness of his body and the bloated lower part of the belly. Alric's face was waxen yellow, the pulse throbbing visibly at his temple. Whatever Arianne's follies, she had nothing to do with _this_. What on earth could have happened in the last year to reduce Alric to this?

"I thought you were at Sunspear," Carral said, trying to give them both time to adapt.

Mikkel shrugged. "Why, yes, of course, I was at Sunspear. But when one dwells there, they can just as easily go back."

He had spent the war in the Old Palace, helping Arianne reign her disagreeable Council in. Too many of its members didn't see the war against the pirates as a pressing matter, so Arianne had had to constantly defend her decision. As usual, Mikkel supported her policy – and helping rule a region in a war was a time-consuming errand. Carral wondered whether even Mikkel had taken the young swaggerer from the Reach seriously. The moment he had seen him, he had realized why Arianne had been led to make this mistake. The little rooster was a man no hot-blooded Dornishman would take seriously. Arianne had probably not given him a thought out of bed, too occupied with pressing matters to think that scandal was scandal, no matter the character of the one causing it. Most likely, she had never thought of him as someone meriting a scandal.

Of course, he strongly believed that Alric would not see things the same way…

Before he could reply, the door opened gently and the old Maester Girar swept in followed by Doran. Mikkel hurriedly waved their nephew away, unwilling to let him see his father in such a state. Doran obeyed but not before sweeping his eyes over everything and everyone.

Even before starting to clean the wound, the Maester ordered a hot bath to be drawn and the boiled wine to be reheated; tired to the bones, Carral watched him rub Alric down with warmed towels in the meantime and headed for the door, intending to change his own dripping clothes.

"No," Alric whispered, his eyes suddenly lucid. "Stay here, stay with me."

Silently, Carral returned at his side, took his tunic off and reached for one of the towels to get his own blood a little warmer.

* * *

Today, she came a lot earlier than usual but Artos wasn't surprised. After the events the day had brought, he expected that she'd come to make her position clear to him… and by the gods, he needed to hear it, for he no longer knew what her position was or where he stood with her. He didn't know where he stood in anything related to Dorne. Nothing he had been told in this place and about this place seemed to be true. Especially where Arianne was concerned.

Scandals and dares. Sophistication and wildness. Women and weapons. Poisons and holding grudges. Tearing malcontents apart whenever he felt like it. That was how Artos had always heard about Alric Gargalen. He had seen none of this today. Alric was of age with Arianne, yet he looked years older, tired and careworn to no end. Surely Arianne couldn't content herself with this shell? Artos doubted her husband's presence, in his current state, would make much of a difference from his absence. And Alric didn't look like someone who could summon the energy to issue something more than a formal protest. Arianne wouldn't want to stay alone, right? Because right now, staying with her consort would mean just that – staying alone.

The sun was already disappearing into the vermillion of the sea like a bleeding heart when Arianne entered the solar and sank into the nearest chair, rubbing her forehead. Artos immediately saw her puffy eyes. She's been crying. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked.

"Tell me what happened," she said. "What did he say? What did he do?"

Reluctantly, he relayed the unpleasant meeting, watching her carefully to see her reaction. Her face was inscrutable, though, even more like it had been in the beginning, when they had first bargained over the terms of the treaty, each guarding their thoughts from the other. For the first time, she was treating him as if he were one of the councilors she did not trust, a man she should conceal her feelings from.

"And that was all?" she finally asked, the disbelief evident in her voice. "He didn't even inquire what you were doing here?"

"I think he already knew."

"That's bad," Arianne whispered. "He's never been like this. When he's angry, the whole world knows it."

"Maybe he isn't angry," he suggested and she gave him a look of utter puzzlement.

"Why would you say this?"

He shrugged and tugged at a golden tassel of a pillow. "Well, it is Dorne and you are the Princess…"

This had been the wrong thing to say. Her eyes went cold and her hand gripped the arms of her chair. Her face whitened. "Because we're immoral and of course, I am the Lady of Dorne and he's just someone who can be cast aside at a whim, as soon as he shows discontent in my affairs, so he's expected to suffer in silence."

He opened his mouth and closed it. "I didn't say that."

He expected a heated protest once again and insistence to make clear what he meant; instead, Arianne only shook her head. "Be that at it may, I suppose it could only be expected. And it was my doing all over. My mistake. It looks like I have given some of my own people the wrong impression, so why not you who aren't even accustomed to our ways?"

The wrong impression. The words hit him like a brick. "What do you mean?"

But Arianne was no longer listening to him. She had gone to the window and thrown the shutters open. A veritable sea of water poured into the chamber, carried by the wind. On the outside, the sky was white with rage.

For a while, Arianne stood staring in the curtain of water that permeated the room further and further, soaking the pillows in the carpet and lapping at the coffers. When she turned around, her face was set up. "It's time for you to go," she said. "I'll send people to help your servant with the packing. I'll take care to have you appraised when the roads are safe once again."

_Have you appraised._ She wouldn't even lose time to inform him in person. There was a hollow sensation in his chest at the thought that he might have misjudged her feelings, as he had everything else in this cursed land. "Will you stay for the night?" he asked, surprised by his own toneless voice.

She shook her head. "I should have never stayed even a single night," she said. "The only way to start mending things now is to stay away."

_And besides, what could I need from you now that Alric is back?_ She didn't voice it, though, it would be too cruel indeed. The boy was not to blame for the appalling lapse of judgment on her part. She had been the one to make the overtures, not he. She determinedly refused to think of the possibility that terrified her more than anything: that Alric might not want to have anything to do with her anymore. Not after such a monumental blunder.

He stared at her gaunt face, ghostly white in the falling darkness, in the quivering lip she could suddenly not control, and felt how the magic of her unraveled right in front of his eyes. Her self-confidence, her willingness to defy the rules, the way she gave up to her passions, the way she had ignored her husband's very existence, refusing to even talk about him with Artos – all those things that had made her different from all other women – they had been part of the attraction that bonded him to her. Now, though, she looked like any other highborn lady, terrified at being caught, yielding to weeping and female fears, and horror at the thought that she had been proven guilty. He felt as if he had been lied to, as if the woman he had fell in love with did not exist anymore – and had never existed in the first place. She was a beautiful lady, indeed – but wed and so very ordinary. And many years older than him – which now showed.

"So you've found out that you are still in love with your husband?"

He didn't even know where the words came from. Love had never been a feeling he had picked on with regards on Arianne's relationship with Alric Gargalen. But then, he wouldn't have picked anything on since she never gave up anything. Her husband was a territory just as forbidden for conversation as their bedchamber was for entering.

"I always was," Arianne said simply.

He felt shamed and foul. For the first time, he saw their relationship for what it had been: she had been using him to indulge her passions while her precious Alric was away. Of course, he had been using her, too, to boost his self-importance. But it had been more than that to him. Not her, though. And now she was putting him aside with no second thought, focused only on how to explain things to her great love. So pitiful. So conventional, for all she reigned in her own name. _She's but a mere woman_ , he thought and smiled. _Well, she'll suffer like a mere woman. Because her beloved husband won't take her back. She doesn't know it yet but I do. I saw him in the woods and she didn't._

"I'll be waiting," he said amenably.

Arianne didn't even bother to notice the sudden change in his mood. She was staring at the storm, remembering another storm from six years ago. She had been fretting again over her small daughter's frail health and Alric had had the brilliant idea to take her out for a ride to distract her. The deluge had taken them by surprise near the coast. They had barely found shelter in a cave, praying that the sea would not come quite this high, by equal turns terrified and excited, and more passionate for each other than ever before. They had spent a day and a night in their shelter, emerging from time to time to lift their faces against the rain and then crawling back under the cover they had transformed his cloak into, to be met by eager arms and hot breath. The thunders had been a constant accompaniment to their seclusion, and the elevated sense of danger had given them some strange sort of happiness that had had nothing to do with brains and everything to do with senses. At the end, their people had found them deeply asleep on her cloak, covered with his. Alric had held the cloak in front of her, so she could dress as best as she could, and they had left to come back to the Old Palace where they had immediately gone back to sleep. Oberyn had been born just nine months later, as wild and unpredictable, and violent, and tender as that storm.

_He cannot leave it all behind_ , Arianne now thought. _He'll come back to give me hell and then we'll talk. Yes, we will._

Meanwhile, the storm had invaded more than half of the chamber, sucking the dyes from the pillows and making the candles flicker, shiver, and die.

 


	5. Further Down the Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed!

The blood orange in front of Arianne glistened wet, bright and juicy, its rich red deepener than usual, saturated into scarlet. When she placed a piece of it in her mouth, it tasted of ripening moved to rotting, sweetness that had been so full that it had started tasting slightly sickening, old and weary, and deceptively enticing with life it no longer had. Frowning, she swallowed it nonetheless but did not reach for another piece.

The children were playing in the pools down, shrieking with laughter. Someone saw her and pointed her out. Arianne smiled and waved at them. They returned the gesture enthusiastically but her own smile grew sad when she remembered the time she had been such a child, with no greater care in the world than unseat the occupant of another pair of shoulders. Alric had been her preferred partner. When with him, she had very rarely fallen down. _That's because you're so small_ , he had used to explain. _It's easy to hold you and you don't lose your balance as easily as the taller ones do_. She had nodded wisely, agreeing that it wasn't so hard to keep oneself balanced when there wasn't so much of them to keep balanced in the first place!

Once again, she sat down and kept reading the latest words arrived by ravens' wings. Her eyes grew stormy at the news that Lord Yronwood had returned to Dorne. After the fiasco of five years ago, he had spent much of his time abroad. He'd been scared of Arianne and most of the Dornish lords and ladies turning against him for his betrayal. _As he should have_ , Arianne thought angrily. Another thought, quite unwelcome, made her frown even more. Could it be that he had heard about her affair with Artos and taken it to mean that Alric's influence over her had been diminished? House Gargalen had more reasons than anyone else to bear a grudge against him. Aelinor Gargalen, Alric's sister, had ended up used and dishonoured. Yes, hiding away had been wise on Edgar Yronwood part. _And it must have been very jarring to his pride, too._ A small smile of malice crept over her lips, swiftly replaced by a look of both fear and longing when she looked up from the terrace to the gates that remained so stubbornly closed. No cloud of dust, no Alric storming in and jumping off Flame in full gallop to demand to know what had gotten into her.

She rose and went back to the railing, staring at the cheerful activity around the pools. Her eyes swiftly made out her own children's frames and her dark eyebrows knitted together when yet another unpleasant thought came to her: Alric had promised Oberyn that he'd send for him and Elia to be brought at Salt Shore and he hadn't. That wasn't her husband's style: Alric took his promises to their children as seriously as he did his promises to adults, be it treats or punishments.

All of a sudden, Arianne made her mind up. This waiting was no good to anyone. If Alric wouldn't come to her, she'd go to him and see just how bad things were. People often claimed that time apart was a good thing for a marriage, giving tempers time to cool down. But to Arianne's marriage in her current situation, there was nothing worse than time apart. Getting the storm raging and passing was the best way to preserve the relationship that meant more to her than the world would ever know.

She turned around and headed for the door to give orders to prepare for leaving.

* * *

Wherever their party went, the devastating effects of the storm could be felt all around: the mud, the overflowing streams, the bad roads. Far on their left, the sound of the sea resembled a widow's lament, rather than the glorious roaring of eternal strength that had always accompanied Arianne, each time she chose to travel along the coastline, instead of by sea. Here and there, people had ventured to work in the olive groves and once, a little girl ran to the party and offered Arianne her clenched fist , so small that it could contain only four olives; smiling, the Princess ate them without hesitation, savouring the taste most people found impossibly bitter.

"It's vile!" she heard another little girl's voice, her own, complaining indignantly, rinsing her mouth frantically and looking around that same olive grove. A few steps away, Alric bravely ate his own olive, even managing not to frown as the poison burned its way through his throat.

Prince Mors Martell laughed, took them by the hands, and led them deeper among the olive trees. "Look at that, children! This is your land and this is one of the things that feed us all. Olives are not vile, they are the blood that runs in the veins of Dorne. Try it, feel it as it comes raw, and remember that with the efforts of our people, it turns to the food that you both like so much at the table in Sunspear and the Water Gardens. Nothing comes without effort… and you need to respect the things that give Dorne life."

Princess Carissa's ladies shook their heads and started muttering among themselves about their Prince's peculiar ideas. Arianne and Alric, though, listened entranced. Not because they understood fully, they were too young, but because his tone spoke to them more eloquently than the words themselves. A moment later, Alric stood on tiptoes, reached for an overhanging branch, picked a handful of green fruit, and offered them to Arianne, palm open. She picked a few, leaving him another few, and they both ate and tried to taste Dorne in the bitterness that was not so bitter now.

The precious memory made Arianne's eyes fill up. Her father would have known what to do now, how to help her. Or not. _A man can have many women but the wife is only one_ , he had been heard saying repeatedly. And as far as Arianne knew, Lady Carissa Jordayne had never paid much attention to his affairs – except for that girl who had boasted that she held the Prince's heart in public and giving Carissa's own ladies orders contradicting hers. Only a month later, the chit had been packed off to the desert and wed to a minor lord there. Prince Mors had always drawn a sharp line between his Princess and his mistresses, with Carissa always having the lion share of his support. He would have been troubled to know that Arianne had blurred the line. _I cannot help you, child_ , he would have said now. _You must find your own way if you want it to lead you somewhere._

Arianne bit at another olive. _I won't lose him_ , she thought as the black juice filled her mouth. Not the love of her life; not her companion from before they were old enough to know what a companion was.

Here and there, they encountered trees stricken by thunderclamps, mightly trunks that had risen proud and green at Arianne's last trip down this road a few months ago, now shrunken, split in two, dead and blackened. She tried to remember whether there had been any signs to predict the sudden unleashing of the storm or its ferocity and came up with the unnaturally hot weather, the one that had lulled everyone sleepy and careless, completely unprepared for what had to come.

It was already late at night when the huge gates of Salt Shore opened to admit them; as soon as her Captain of Guards helped her dismount, Arianne headed for the building, ignoring the stares and whispers of those guards and servants who were still awake and had gathered to meet her.

Just as she expected, Mikkel and Isanne were not abed despite the late hour. He sat with a book in front of the fireplace and she as working on her embroidery; for a moment, Arianne remembered that when given time, Mikkel could outdo the late Jaehaerys Targaryen in being bookish. Carral sat in a big chair with his eyes closed and his head resting over the edge of the back. To her relief, Doran was nowhere to be seen. But neither was Alric.

At the sound of her footsteps, they all looked up.

"Welcome, my lady," Mikkel said formally and her blood ran cold. His brief smile, though, made her sigh with relief. At least someone there wasn't set up against her. Everyone else, from the servants to Carral and Isanne, seemed to judge her and find her lacking. Mikkel, though, had struggled to keep Dorne stable alongside her and he had seen firsthand the strain she had been under, the tension that had made her unable to make the right calls in her private life. Maybe _he's forgotten that he hinted to me I was going too far with Artos_ , she thought without much hope. For now, his lack of judgment would have to do.

"We weren't expecting you," Isanne said. "Come, sit down. You must be tired."

She went to the table and started pouring wine, the perfect hostess as ever. Arianne, though, had no time for niceties. "I thought I might find Alric with you," she said.

There was a perceptible thickening of the tension in the solar before Mikkel said in a level voice, "He has retired for the evening already. He was tired."

Arianne blinked. She had been expecting to hear anything but that. Alric rarely went to bed earlier than midnight and often later; him citing tiredness was equally rare.

"And Lady Daella?" she asked. In truth, she was pleased she didn't have to deal with her goodmother who had warned them – just once, in the beginning – that they were courting trouble. Daella Targaryen was the kindest soul there was but Arianne was sure she'd hear the unspoken, _I told you so._

"She's still in the Red Mountains, with the Fowlers," Mikkel said. "In fact, Alric insisted that she'd not be apprised of his situation."

All of a sudden, Arianne wished she had accepted that goblet. What was the matter with Alric's situation? Why hadn't he come to have a quarrel with her? Why wasn't he here now?

"I am going to see him," she said and was quite unsurprised at seeing the looks exchanged between the other three.

"I am not sure it is…" Isanne started before Carral cut her off.

"Isanne," he said. "Let her be. They'll have to meet at one point. She's come all the way from the Water Gardens, so why not now?"

His voice sounded so very reasonable, almost considerate; in the tapestry of light and shadows his eyes were anything but.

"I'll take you there," Mikkel said quickly, ignoring Arianne's arched eyebrow. She did know the bedchamber she shared with Alric while they were here, for the Mother's sake.

Once they were out the solar and on the staircase leading to the upper floors, Mikkel looked at her. His Targaryen eyes flickered like drops of wine spilled in a burning hearth. "He isn't well, Arianne," he said. "If you have come with storms and apologies, I'd advise you to reconsider. I don't know how he'll react to either. He isn't ready for them."

Her heart sank. "What do you mean, not well?" she asked. So that was why he hadn't come to confront her or sent for the children. She cursed herself for not guessing the truth earlier. Only incapability would have kept him at bay.

Mikkel stopped and reached for a torch that had died out, busying himself with taking it off the holder and putting it close to another torch so it could be relit. "Exactly what I mean," he said. "The maester says his condition is quite serious. Anxiety only makes it all worse, so I'd like for you not to let him drag you into an argument… or start one yourself. And if he's fallen asleep with the compress, don't wake him up to have it changed."

Those instructions scared her even more. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

He sighed. "In body? A wound that would not heal. Exaustion. Weakness of the limbs. A constant headache. And severe malnourishment."

Arianne's jaw dropped. "Malnourishment?" she echoed, truly stunned. "How can he suffer from malnourishment?"

He gave her a look that clearly said, _Well, usually the reason is not enough food._ But how was that possible? As harsh as his conditions had been, others had returned, emaciated but not malnourished by any means. It was hard to believe that Alric, of all people, would not have enough food.

"There's something wrong with him," Mikkel said. "It looks like physical exertions have pushed his abdominal organs down and that seems to be quite painful. As I told you, his body is a wreck. He is quite revolted by the very idea of food."

Arianne's hands went cold. Without another word, she resumed walking. Mikkel turned and headed back down the way he had come.

Salt Shore was one of the castles where torches burned in the hallways almost till dawn, so Arianne walked steadily, without hesitation. She opened the door slightly, trying to do it as softly as possible. But Alric was not asleep anyway. She barely contained her gasp at the sight of his bloodless skin and the drops of sweat on his face in the room that was clearly being kept cold to fight his fever off. He had removed the thin cover, as if he was too hot, and she saw just how emaciated he was, a little more than a corpse. He was lying on his side, as not to disturb the bandaged wound on his shoulder. On the carpet near the bed lay a piece of cloth smelling of some potion that he had clearly held on his bloated belly. His lustrous black hair had thinned out, not because of balding but because of his general exhaustion. The dark eyes taking her in were glazed.

"Close the door," Alric said.

Silently, she did and remained at it, fighting to keep the tears off. Now, she realized why he had not sought her out, what he had seen at coming home. _How could I risk so much for the sake of convenience and the joy of having pretty boy near_ , she thought. For the first time, she realized that she might not win him back, that he might never forgive her, that without knowing, she had dealt him a blow he could hardly deal with. For all his wild nature, he had always craved a certain kind of stability and he had always found it in her, most of all. Even when they were children. He had been taken from everything he knew to be brought here; he had had his life split in two between his parents and his life in Dorne. And she had always been the one to anchor him when he had had to adapt to life here over and over again. This time, though… As he had been losing his health and vitality wielding the sword she could not wield for her gender, she had been going on romantic walks at night with Artos in their own home, close to their children, thinking that no one would see or if they saw, they'd see it the way she meant it, as a distraction in that hectic life of hers. That alone would have been hard enough for his pride to swallow; but the pitiful condition that he was in made it all more painful. He was clearly unable to take logic into reasoning. In fact, Arianne was not sure he was even capable of thinking at all, with those glassy eyes of his. But when they fixed her again, they were clear enough.

"Come here."

She did and hesitated before sitting at the edge of the bed. He did not indicate that he minded. She reached for his hand and he drew it back. "I am sorry," Arianne said softly. "It wasn't what it looked like. It wasn't what I wanted to happen. I just…" Her voice trailed off. "I just didn't think."

"That's quite new." His voice was even. Arianne realized how flimsy this excuse sounded. If anything, she was prone to overthinking things. "Are the children with you?"

She shook her head. "No. I left them home. I didn't know what to expect," she added and gave him an open look.

"Good," he said. "I don't want them to see me like this. It's bad enough that Doran does, every day."

"I daresay he's going to see much worse things in future," Arianne said dryly. "But yes, I agree about Elia and Oberyn."

Alric closed his eyes, as if he had decided to ignore her – or was tired of her presence already. Arianne followed, although her gesture was due to a new fear. He had not thrown her out or started a quarrel. She could only hope that was due to his weakened state and not because he had decided to deal with the problem in the most effective way possible: keeping appearances of accord in public, being remote and aloof in private. Arianne was the Lady of Dorne but Alric had taken some things from his mother, the Targaryen princess: he could just cut people off his life with them still being there every day. This way, he could be sure that she'd never be able to cause him such pain ever again.

 


	6. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed, it means a lot!

 "Mikkel, I decided to go back to Sunspear."

Arianne's voice was soft and tired, and as dejected as he had never heard it before. Her appearance was no better: her eyes were sunken, her skin ashen, her hair unwashed in days. At least her clothes didn't smell, for her chambermaid knew how to be insistent that she'd be allowed to wash and change her mistress.

They sat on a small terrace overlooking the sea. Arianne stared at the glistening path the moon drew across it and remembered how she had once dreamed of walking on it, going to the other end of the world down it. With the boy who would later become her husband, of course. She had been without Alric for prolonged periods of time when children and she had always been grumpy and waiting for him to come back.

"I am glad," her goodbrother said simply.

Arianne did not take offense, she knew what he meant. She had spent here almost two weeks, looking at Alric deteriorating before her eyes. As much as she hated it, at the end she had to admit the reality of the situation: her being there worsened his condition, for despite his weakened state his feelings were still strong enough: jealousy, anger, offense, humiliation. And her presence would not let them fade. On the contrary, it seemed to feed them – and anxiety made his physical state worse. As if it wasn't already! She had sat through some of the treatment sessions, making use of the fact that he wouldn't tell her to leave when there were others present and she had heard what the maester told him: to rest and avoid any agitation. Now, Arianne was such an agitation.

But it turned out that she had not yet seen all of his ailments. She had not been prepared for the vomiting of blood that she saw on her second day here. When pressed hard, Arel Dayne, Alric's young page, mentioned about a rock thrown from the besieged embankment that had pressed his lord hard. He had lain beneath it for hours before they were able to pull him back.

"He needs to gain some weight," the maester said repeatedly. "His general weakness of the body is the reason the wound in his shoulder won't close, as well. There is no reason for it not to."

But how could it happen when Alric nearly retched at the very mention of any food?

"Take care of him," Arianne said now. "I hope he gets better now, when I am no longer here to annoy him."

Mikkel nodded and looked aside, lest she caught his eye and saw pity there – the very thing that she could never forgive. He could not decide whether he felt greater anger or pity of those two and their bizarre games. At the end, the price had turned out to be too high. And it could become higher yet, for Alric could still die from his external and internal wounds if starvation didn't finish him off first. Mikkel was just as stunned and sad as Arianne to see this pale shadow, now bed-bound and forbidden to rise even to use the privy. And he supposed she felt even more wretched because she sickened Alric more with her very presence and attempts to make things right. People had started whispering that if he did die, she might soon follow, that she might not be able to live without him. But Mikkel knew better. She could live without Alric. She just didn't want to, yet she had to leave in the hope of keeping him alive and improving.

"He'll always be well cared for here," he said. "And I'll keep you informed."

The moon silvered him even more, enhancing his handsomeness into unnatural perfection. Arianne shivered at the sudden feeling that she was the most flawed human being alive. Of course, she knew it was not true but it _felt_ like it. She needed to make a choice that might destabilize Dorne… or cost her husband his health and life. She had never thought it might come to this. She had to leave, yet she realized that by leaving, she'd further the rumours of her estrangement from Alric, of a potential replacing him with a new, younger version, of a rift between herself and Mikkel who was her staunchest supporter and most valuable advisor.

But if she stayed, the tension could kill Alric.

She had always chosen Dorne. But not this time. _He'll get better_ , she thought. _And then Dorne will calm down again by seeing that we are together and will stay together._

That idea that was by no means certainty was the only thing that could carry her through. She nodded and rose. "I'll go to my chamber, then," she said with the bitter thought that for first time in their marriage and countless visits to Salt Shore, she had a bedchamber of her own now. People had been quite scandalized when Alric had kept sleeping in their marital bed till the last night before each of their children's births, or at least each birth he had been there to see. Thinking of it now, Arianne realized that the usual concerns of women who didn't like their husbands seeing them in the last stage of pregnancy had never bothered her. She had always loved him rubbing her back and feet. The idea that he might be disenchanted with her swollen belly, engorged breasts, thickened thighs, and fiery stretchmarks from chest to knees, let alone the brown spots on her skin, had never entered her consideration. But there was this wall between them now and it manifested itself in the form of different bedchambers. Of course, it could be passed as concern on her part of disturbing his rest but everyone in the castle was aware of what it was.

Instead of heading for her bed, Arianne went to find the one whose opinion mattered than anyone else.

"So, when are you leaving?" Doran asked, still standing at the window, staring at the stars.

Arianne smiled despite herself: with every passing day, her son started to resemble her more. She was not surprised that he had gleaned her intention off; in his place, she would have known, too. "Tomorrow morning."

Now he turned to look her fully in the face. "I think that's the best decision you can make," he said casually, answering to the unspoken question in her eyes. Unfortunately, that only made a new one arise.

"Have you heard what people are saying?" she asked.

He didn't try to dodge the question. "I have."

Arianne slowly nodded. "So have I. I never thought that one day I'd care."

"Do you?" Doran asked and she caught the faint note of sarcasm quite distinctly.

"Now?" she asked. "Yes."

She had always cared. She had never been given the chance not to. But until now, people's opinion had never held the power to influence her own, private life. She and Alric had been above such things. It even suited their agenda to be seen as two different heads of the same two-headed beast: the kind, rational, and even meek one and the wild, mercurial and uncontrollable one. Such a clear distinction made them exercise power in a way that was most efficient. But now it looked like the beast could be cut in two, the heads separated. The thought of it made her feel hollow inside.

"Let them talk," Doran said. "Things can't really get any worse, can they?"

She blushed and looked aside, remembering all too late that he had hinted quite clearly at her that according to him, she was playing a dangerous game. She had just chosen not to listen, too busy and tired to make changes in a life that suited her. _He's grown up_ , she thought, with pride and some bafflement. He could now make the distinction between being truly infatuated and being too careless to notice that you were going too far. He had appraised the situation as it was and deemed it dangerous. With his downright, albeit polite dismissing of Artos, he had set an example she really should have followed! If her son had chosen this way of showing his opinion, she should have interpreted it the right way, with all due seriouness. After all, Doran had taken this way of hints, tactfulness, and veiled suggestions from her, not Alric.

"My being here makes him sicker," she said, suddenly desperate to make sure that he knew she wasn't careless this time around.

Doran moved away from the window, sat on his bed and motioned her at the settee. "I know," he said. "You forget, I am not allowed in either."

He was deliberately misrepresenting the situation. _When he feels better, he invites you in. I am never desired in his chamber._

She made a step for the settee, changed her mind and stopped. "I'll be waiting for you in Sunspear," she said. "Both of you."

"I'll be there," he said and Arianne decided that she'd rather not know whether he meant that according to him, his father would never forgive her, or simply that he didn't think Alric would ever recover fully. Doran had been in King's Landing, in his grandfather's solar when Alor Gargalen had suffered the devastating stroke that had left him all but an empty shell. _No, that's not right. He lost his control over his body, yet his mind was as strong as ever._ **_He became a prisoner of his own flesh_** , Doran had once told her in one of his very rare moments when he talked about it. Arianne would prefer a quick death over such a life… if it was about her. But Alric? With horror and shame, she realized that she'd do everything in her power to keep him alive, even if his life was nothing like a real one, even if he would prefer death. So great was her selfishness. She looked aside, scared that her son would see it and disdain her.

In Alric's bedchamber, he was still awake with a book on the cover next to him. Arianne noticed the small piece of bright blue cloth at the coffer and the dark stain on it, the same in colour as the tiny dots on the binding of the book. She already knew that should she look under the bed, she'd find a basin full of congealed dark-brownish blood mixed with small pieces of the little food Alric had managed to eat. He looked at her, silently, and as she went near the bed, she felt a mix of concern and relief that she knew well by now. His silence wasn't a hostile one, it was bred by pain and exhaustion. Without hesitation, she carefully seated herself on the edge of the bed and reached for the hand he left in hers willingly.

For a while, she said nothing, just held his hand.

"Are you thirsty?" she finally asked and without waiting for him to answer, rose and went to the table, to return with a goblet of iced water spiced with lemon juice. "Slowly," she warned as he sipped. After a few gulps, she withdrew the goblet and took it back to the table. He followed her movements with his eyes.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Arianne said when the last candle went down. They were now sitting in darkness and she was glad that she couldn't see whether his expression was one of disgruntlement or relief. "I don't want you to get any worse."

As much as she cherished moments like this, for they showed that beneath the pain, humiliation, jealousy, and betrayal he still hadn't severed the tie between them, she could never delight in the fact that his physical pain was so excruciating that it was capable of swallowing his bitterness towards her and making him long for her nearness.

"Good," he said and there was no cruelty in his voice, just sad wonder at the situation they had let themselves come to. _He's scared, as well_ , Arianne thought, _scared that he won't be able to forgive me, that we'll never be able to regain what we had._ Without her, he'd lose the entire foundation his life had been built upon. Why had he been taken from his home many years before boys were usually sent for fostering if not to be prepared for his new life? His life with her. That was what he had been taught in the formative years children get their first sense of their own worth: that he was tied to her, that his main goals should always be in line with hers, that she was his fate. _And I was taught that he was mine, as well._ Since they had grown up together and had each other long before Dorne widened beyond the expanse of Sunspear, the Water Gardens, and the lands they saw through the annual progressions of the princely household, they had felt that they belonged with each other at the time they still didn't know what politics was. _We've been wed for twenty years, sharing bed for two more. We have three children and lost two. We've been united in our scandalous view of marriage. We've been friends and lovers, and each other's heart for as long as I can remember. We're so entangled in this web that nothing can set us free – not a separation, not death. The Seven help us, Alric, we have to find a way to overcome this, for we'll forever be bound to each other. I won't be able to bear a tie of indifference and I don't think you'll be able either._ She firmly resisted any sneaking thought that it might not come to this, that he might not live or recover enough to feel indifferent to her. She just sat there, holding his hand, as he finally sank into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

Arianne was still there when the dawn stretched long rosy fingers and danced around the room, its soft caress turning Alric almost into the man who had left Sunspear more than a year ago.

 


	7. Under the Eye of the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my reviewers.

"Move over! We'll fall down!"

"Take this leg back! If you only drew a little on the left, there will be room enough for both of us to stand comforta… is that lemons on purple?"

"House Dalt."

Quite amused, Doran watched the excitement over his head. His siblings and cousins had arrived from the Water Gardens just the day to see their parents who had come for the annual Council Session – and had been mad with curiosity about who arrived and what they said, where they came from and where they would go… Two or three of them were constantly keeping watch in the arms of the great tree near the terrace of the Princess' solar – and constantly bickering for more room. Doran kept an eye on them, ready to intervene in the iciest voice he could muster if anyone went from bickering to actually fighting for that room. The tree was tall enough for someone to end up with a broken skull.

"Is that Lady Toland?" his sister Loreza Sand asked.

"It doesn't look like a dragon," Errol Gargalen replied. "It's more like a green worm."

"Which House has a worm as its sigil?" the girl asked reasonably and they moved once again, straining to see better from their tree.

"Can I come, too?" a voice asked from the firm pavement of the terrace.

"No," Doran said without moving from his chair. Waiting. Oberyn did not disappoint: a few minutes later, he asked once again, "Can I come, too?"

Doran sighed. _This boy is a nightmare,_ he thought. _And growing up only seems to make him more annoying._ Of course, their father's absence and their mother's being constantly busy with preparing for the Council only gave Oberyn more free time to do as he liked, so it was no wonder that the idea of not doing what he liked this time stung even more.

"No," he said nicely, as if it wasn't the seventh time he did so in the last hour. Oberyn was trying his limits and Doran could not let the little trouble see that he had succeeded in getting him angry. Such things delighted his brother and encouraged him to go further. Sooner or later, Oberyn would have to learn that _no_ did not mean _yes if you only asked often enough_ …

"Lady Jordayne," the children announced from above, and Doran rose. He had to go now. During the last two years, he had never missed a council when he was at Sunspear and had been summoned too often to attend such even when he was away.

"No, Oberyn," he said, making sure to sound measured and undisturbed. "It's the Council Session, not a battle in the pools. You aren't coming and that's it. And if you press too hard on the side door and fall in, that's only on yourselves," he added, not even looking at the children as he was walking away.

"You've told him, Oberyn?" Alynna Gargalen squealed, disgruntled. "Why? He'll now tell your lady…"

"You're such a fool!" Oberyn spat. " _You_ 've just told him. He only had suspicions before."

Doran didn't even bother to lift a hand or look back, although he was quite sure Alynna was flying at Oberyn, with Elia trying to intervene in the fight that had suddenly become quite physical.

"That's Father!" Loreza suddenly squealed from the tree.

Doran turned around sharply; suddenly reconciled, Oberyn, Alynna, and Elia let go of each other and went to the railing.

Doran's first reaction was relief. He had been afraid that the fight between his parents would turn from rumour to ugly reality, that Alric wouldn't attend the Council Session as he was expected to, that the rift between them would be confirmed. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that his father's arrival meant that everything would be as it had been before but at least the most immediate crisis would be over. His parents were scandalous enough to make the whole sordid affair look like just another one of their peculiarities… maybe. Nothing that would tear Dorne apart.

The faces of the children, though, disturbed him. _What a fool I was, thinking that we could hide the truth from them._ They were old enough to overhear the things grown-ups would rather not say in their presence. And the last months of traveling between the Water Gardens and Salt Shore must have left them with questions. Doran very much doubted that his father would ever say something hurtful about Arianne in front of them, they must have wondered why she never went with them and many other things. Elia had actually come to him with the question why their father no longer lived with them.

"Because he is ill," he had lied then, yet not quite.

And she had looked at him with those huge dark eyes of her and replied, "But he isn't ill any more."

Even his uncle at his arrival the day before had only shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea what your father has in mind," he only said. "Yes, he's much better but I have no idea."

"But you must have asked him," Doran insisted.

"I did."

"And?"

"And nothing. You, of all people, should know that your father makes his own plans and can be silent not as a grave but a graveyard if he so chooses."

That was an ability young Doran had come to value but by the Seven, sometimes he wished his parents would decide whether they'd be silent, or so vocal that the entire court had to scatter over out of inconvenience and fear!

"That's Father!" Oberyn screamed excitedly as Loreza was making her way down the tree and reaching out for Doran to take her, so she would not have to climb another floor down.

Flame burst out in full gallop in the courtyard. Alric looked up, as if he knew he'd find them on the terrace, and waved at them, grinning broadly; squealing with joy, the children waved back as he jumped off the saddle and stroked Flame's heaving sides and steaming nostrils. Then, he threw the reins in the hands of a stableboy who had come running and strode right towards the Tower of the Sun.

"Yes," Doran agreed, feeling like a huge rock had been just lifted off his chest. "That's Father."

* * *

The vast throne room was filled with whispers and secret looks. Everyone tried to look at the empty seat with the Rhoynish sun trying to pretend that they weren't. The rumours about their lady and her husband's marital discord had reached every ear in Dorne, yet Alric's brothers were here, as polite and inscrutable as ever while he was not, so it was small wonder that speculations were abound. What were they to make of his absence from the traditional meeting? Was he as ill as the talk had it? Had he died maybe and they were hiding the news until the Session was over? Was the balance of power disturbed? Had Arianne formed an alliance with Lord Yronwood who had conveniently returned just when Alric Gargalen had disappeared? The two men's dislike of each other was hardly a secret and until now, the Princess had always thrown her support behind her husband, to the extent of making it clear that she could not guarantee Lord Yronwoods's safety if he chose to stay in Dorne; but now, he had taken his seat, as proud and haughty as ever, and Arianne didn't even bat an eyelid, only casting a warning look at her youngest goodbrother. Mikkel Gargalen didn't even need a look, he was too self-controlled.

By the old tradition, foods were not served during this meeting – only huge goblets of icy-cold water brought by the aqueduct straight to an inner yard in the Old Palace. Some of the lords present would have preferred wine but tradition was to be observed.

Arianne Martell looked as calm as ever. If her consort's absence bothered her at all, she did not show it. In her nice soft voice she drew in the most general of terms the problems she saw as most imminent – revisiting the treaty with Lys, working harder on keeping the relations with the Reach civil since the two regions had already proved they could work together pretty fine when needed, digging a new water channel for the purposes of lemon produce and deciding its location and the authority over it, as well as the part of the produce each of the lords and ladies whose lands it would cross would receive… She spoke smoothly, without stammer or pauses to find words. Just another Session, nothing this unusual.

"And here is the letter…" she went on and fell silent, startled by the echo of approaching footsteps.

The hall almost exploded when Alric appeared, dripping with sweat, still in his riding clothes. His dark hair shone in the sunlight coming from the dome of gold and leaden glass, his olive skin gleamed with health and vitality. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, the only weapon allowed in this hall where no one was entitled to come armed to their liege lady. No one but her husband.

Smiling, Alric bowed towards the dais; when he rose, his eyes swept all over the people present. "My lords, my ladies," he said smoothly, still smiling. "I am sorry I am late. I beg you to accept my apologies for interrupting you."

The whispers started immediately. Alric Gargalen was neither dead nor as ill as they had been led to believe. Maybe it had been all a plot – to make everyone believe that Arianne had lost her main support in Lord Gargalen's face, to make those who opposed her come to light, emboldened by the absence of Alric's iron fist that shielded Arianne from the physical challenges and fought her battles on the battlefield. Lord Yronwood went white.

In the silence where each eye was fixed on Alric, Doran's entering went almost unnoticed.

Alric crossed the hall and climbed up the dais but instead of going to his own seat, he went straight to his wife, his intention obvious – an arrogance that had never been heard of. Everyone's breath caught in anticipation how the Lady of Dorne would react.

But Arianne did not look enraged. She did not look even annoyed. She simply moved over, so he could sit in her own seat, where only the ruling Lord or Lady of Dorne could sit. She was so tiny and he so slender that they fitted just fine. For a moment, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"What did I miss, my lady?" Alric asked.

"Nothing that could not be repeated," Arianne replied. In the silence of the hall, her soft voice could be heard as clearly as if she were shouting.

She offered him her own goblet of water and he drank as she went all over her introduction once again for his sake before opening the letter so they could read it together.

The murmurs filled the hall once again. Nothing had changed. If anything, Alric's influence with his wife had only seemed to have grown. Amidst astounded glances and helpless shrugs meant to convey that those two defied any logic, the Reach lord was quickly condemned to the same fate as all the other men who had passed through Arianne's bed – a nice distraction, surely nothing worth a real quarrel in a marriage that, for all its peculiarities, was as stable as a rock. Alric Gargalen had not been forgotten – he had simply been unapproachable.

Arianne, of course, knew better. She had forced herself not to interrogate or goad the children into telling her what was going on in Salt Shore. She had even made herself not finding eyes and ears serving her there, because all that mattered to her was that he restore his strength. If that included bedding other women to forget the hurt she had caused him, then so be it. They had never spied on each other and she did not intend to start now. Not that he was able to bed anyone in the state that she had left him in.

Still, his letters were quite telling in their silence. They told her much of his days, nothing about his feelings and less than nothing about his intention to give her a new chance. Politics and the children's activities when they visited him there. Nothing about his health, although Mikkel kept her aware of her husband's improvement. Nothing reminding of the playful undertone he had always managed to sneak in before, the shared humour of two people who had always been together. Arianne had been stunned to find out that she missed their rapport more than she missed their lovemaking – and that was something that she, indeed, missed sorely!

Her first relief at seeing him here, once again looking like himself, was swiftly replaced by a vague disappointment. He might put on a convincing act for the assembled lords and ladies' sake, but it would be a while before he could be her sword hand again. Still, he looked infinitely better than the wraith that had haunted her dreams those long six months. And he had found the way to turn the dangerous rumours into mere scandal, something to be repeated at the dinner table in every lord's home. Of course, it would still be at his expense but at least no one would doubt that his position was secure. They had just made sure of that. They had three children; neither of them was going to let this pitiful story touch Doran or the little ones. Not for a moment.

She did not expect to find out how he truly felt about the affair that had hurt and humiliated him so. Not here. That would be something he'd save for the time they'd be alone in their bedchamber.

_It won't surprise me_ , she thought. _You can do nothing that can truly surprise me, my love. I've known you for too long._ She just didn't expect to like his behavior.

For now, though, she had to leave her feelings behind and focus on the political matters at hand.

* * *

"To the seven hells! What have you done with this chamber!"

That was Alric's welcome when Arianne entered their room after having deliberately prolonged her conversation with her ladies, so he'd have the time to absorb the vast changes into what had used to be their bedchamber.

She looked at him and bit back a smile. By the look on his face, things were going just as she had hoped!

"I refurnished."

"I see," he huffed, looking at the white curtains, white chairs, white bedcovers from a simple fabric… Even the feet of the bed were painted white! There was no luxury in the chamber now, not a hint of something to be enjoyed. "What do I owe this attention to?"

She raised her chin. "Well, since you aren't at all interested in being with me anymore, I decided to refurnish my chamber in a way that reflects my new status in life. Nothing interesting will happen here, so I thought I might enjoy some purity and… chastity."

Alric stared at her, having lost his speech. Quite satisfactory. Arianne smiled sweetly, encouraged by the small twitch of his mouth that he tried to suppress. "And before you can say that it really doesn't cost me a thing, let me tell you that I've decided to live like a Silent Sister from now on. No men and everything."

His jaw dropped, his astonishment overwhelming. Had he been holding a goblet, he would have choked since he burst out in such a fit of laughter that it took him a while before he could even form words, let alone sentences. "By the Stranger, woman, you've always been able to make me laugh…"

_That was the whole purpose of it_ , Arianne thought. During the months of their separation she had had time to think everything over and realize that she had been going about it in the wrong way. Pleas to forgive her would bring her nothing. Like it or not, it was quite hard for a man, especially one as proud and talented like Alric, to always stand in his wife's shadow. He was never allowed to shine with his own light, just to add to hers. And one of the reasons he hadn't minded had been her respect and love for him. Without wanting to, she had trampled on this respect. And she had acted as if she were in love with another man in his prime while Alric had been at his lowest. Each plea for forgiveness would only serve to remind him of what she had done.

She could not win him back even in their marital bed. If anything, they both knew how little bedsport meant without love. If he wanted to demand his conjugal rights, she'd scramble for a way to refuse him because she wanted him to want and love her, not bed her just because. But she could see she was on the right path, the one that had gotten them together – their companionship, their sense of humour, all that had bound them to each other when they were children.

"I am pleased you find it funny," she said lazily when hilarity left him. "I live to amuse you… I cannot wait for the moment you find out I mean it."

He shook his head, his eyes still laughing. "You don't," he said. "Your wanton ways are not so different from mine."

Arianne sighed dramatically and started to undress, making it a point to stay behind the bedcurtains, so he would not see her. "I know, I know," she said. "You can believe me, I was stunned when I found out that all the men in the world could not make up for the lack of one. If I cannot have you, I don't want anyone. Terrible, I know."

He laughed again, not believing her, but curious and amused by her performance. _If you weren't the Lady of Dorne, you would have been the favourite of a mummer show_ , he had always said. Arianne emerged from behind the curtains and went to the table to drink from her goblet, revealing her chaste white nightgown, provoking a new dropping of his jaw. She could read his thoughts. _Did she commission this sack? I know for sure she never_ owned _such a thing!_ Even during her pregnancies, she had tried to look nice and attractive. How much she achieved it was a different matter. She had never doubted that he had found her desirable even when she had been headed for a waist resembling that of a pig, about three months before Oberyn's birth.

She yawned. "I am going to sleep," she said before he could come to his senses and start the quarrel he had undoubtedly had in mind before all this whiteness distracted him. "I am going to dream of you," she added sweetly, climbed into the bed and turned her back on him. Her heart was beating wildly. That was the moment she feared most. If he left now, if he went into a bedchamber of his own, that would mean that her tactic was not working. She needed him close to influence him with the full power of her charm and the ways to keep his fondness and interest she had found in their childhood.

Besides, she still didn't know that in those months, he had not found a woman to do for him the thing Arianne couldn't – just be with him when he had needed it most.

But her bet was winning. Alric would not spoil all their efforts of the day by finding another bed; instead, he took his clothing off and lay down next to her without trying to touch her.

Who would have thought that fear of rumours would be so helpful, Arianne thought. Now, Alric had to behave as if he had forgiven her or worse, that there had been nothing to forgive. And with time, this _if_ would slid and die if she played her cards right. _We've been friends and companions long before we were lovers_ , Arianne reminded herself.

When they woke up, they found out they had slept on their side, holding each other, her head against his shoulder, his arm across her back; with a muffled curse, he drew back and groaned. Arianne smiled and curled in a ball, quite pleased with herself and life in general. _You are mine, Alric. Now I know it for sure. We'll just have to wait for you to accept it. But you are mine. And by the Seven, the time I was ready to share you is over!_

 


	8. And the River Flowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone who stayed with me till the end of this tale.

The sound from the children's rooms attracted Arianne immediately upon entering. Alric was telling Elia a story about Queen Nymeria and Oberyn and Doran were having a furious dispute that they tried to keep away from their father's hearing – and their mother's as well, once they saw her. Arianne felt a sting of worry. There was no doubt that Oberyn had committed a transgression once again – and even less doubt that no matter what it was, Doran wouldn't tell her. But then, he isn't obliged to, she reminded herself. He's Oberyn's brother, not parent. Yet she had grown accustomed to relying on her eldest for so much that relying on him to keep his unruly little brother in check followed almost inevitably – and that was not fair on either of them.

A smile crept on her lips even as she pointed out that it was well past bedtime. Elia and Oberyn started protesting, too happy to see their father after a new two month long absence. Arianne was relentless, though, and to her relief, Alric rose, making it clear that he agreed.

Elia wanted to have him play her pony and he almost agreed before reconsidering. He's truly better, Arianne thought, relieved; for the last year or so, her husband's condition had been such that it had been unwise for him to exert his back even with such a tiny pressure.

"What about you, Naeryn? What would you have of me?" Alric asked, smiling; Arianne looked around, quite surprised. Her niece was not a noisy child by nature but being too still for Arianne to notice her was not usual.

The little girl came to Alric hesitantly. "A hand," she mumbled.

"What?" Alric said, uncomprehending, and Arianne wanted to weep. Doran drew back, his face suddenly pale. Naeryn was the very image of loveliness, people said, with her bright amethyst eyes, silver hair and skin that was so pale and radiant that it could rival any star. But she still hadn't learned to dress entirely on her own; she still soiled her clothing at eating and stumbled and fell down repeatedly because she could not keep her balance very well. At the end, it was not the memory of her sharp mind and charming smile that those who first met her carried away. Always, always it was the smooth oval of perfect skin, the void where a left hand should have been.

"Precious," Alric sighed, stricken, drawing her close. "I would make you a hand if I could. But I can't."

Naeryn's lip quivered but she did not cry. For all she thought her uncle could do anything, she was quick to accept the inevitable. "Can't you?"

Alric held her tight and then kissed the oval of her left wrist. Before them, Oberyn and Elia were silent. "No, my child," he said softly. "I can't."

"I'll help you learn how to do everything with one hand," Oberyn suddenly said and Elia followed suit. But this promise did not erase the sadness from their cousin's eyes.

"To bed now," Arianne said firmly, trying to break the dark mood that had suddenly descended upon the chamber. "Tomorrow, you can have your father for the entire day… if he agrees," she added playfully and had the pleasure of witnessing the most heartfelt pleas she had heard from the children in a long time indeed. Only Naeryn was silent.

Alric followed Arianne to their chambers where he immediately sank into a chair, leaning his head against the back of it. Arianne watched him silently, already knowing what he'd say – he had given her enough hints in his letters, - yet hoping that it would turn out to be something else. She came near, placing a goblet into his hand. He only drank a small sip before leaving it aside. "Nothing," he said.

The word sounded hollow and bleak against the soft delightful murmur of the waterworks. Was he talking about the outcome of his journey, or the hopelessness of his niece's situation? Arianne held out a hand and laced her fingers through his. "I wonder why we're so disappointed," she murmured, refusing to think of Naeryn, for it broke her heart and she couldn't do anything to give the girl what she wanted. "All of our past experience shows us that justice is a dish that everyone likes serving to their own taste. Why did we believe it would be different this time?"

He didn't look at her as he replied, "Maybe we're really as foolish as your father said we were. I have no other explanation."

That had not been his first travel through Dorne to make sure that justice was served equally at any region under Arianne's rule. Each time, he returned livid after the inevitable fights with the lords who only pursued one justice – their own justice. Their own whims. Every attempt on Arianne and Alric's part to enforce rules that were equally valid everywhere was met with resistance – and the inevitable cleaving to the Yronwoods. All their efforts could repair the situation only for a while – they could not change human nature and their lords were pretty human in their attempts to safeguard their own interests. Alric had encountered bribery and abuses once again, fought them and stopped them, only to have them starting to rebuild the moment he turned his back.

His back…

"Are you in pain?" Arianne asked and looked at him intently in the candlelight.

He shook his head. "No. I might be tired but I am not sick."

"Good," Arianne said, recognizing his words for their true content: the pain that made him look so gaunt was due to exhaustion, not sickness.

Usually, she liked walking around the pools after everyone had retired, even the servants. There was something soothing in the soft patter of water, the muted caress of the stars. Tonight, though, she only looked at her husband and sighed. "Come on," she said. "I'll rub your back."

He rose immediately, with eagerness that made her ache with sympathy and joy at the same time. His pain could never bring her pleasure, yet at the same time she was glad to see just how well her strategy worked. Ever since the Council Session, she had been careful to maintain a relationship of fondness and affection, friendship but nothing overtly intimate since that would only serve to remind him of her blunder. And he had reacted just as she had hoped, by falling back to the fond side of their relationship as well. He had spent too much time with her. A total breakup would leave him without foundations to cling to, something that would be hard for anyone, even him.

He took his clothing off and lay down on the bed. Arianne left only on candle burning and reached for the oils she kept in the coffer next to her dressing table and started working on his muscles. A small sound of contentment showed her that she was doing a fine job.

The stir of passion that came to her was so sudden that it caught her unaware. In all those months, more than a year already since she had made Artos leave the Water Gardens, she had been sleeping alone. To her surprise, it had been easier than she had expected. Amazing how one's perspective changes along with circumstances, she thought. The very thought of losing Alric had made the idea of an empty bed for a few months look like a minor nuisance. She wanted him in her bed and life, would never be happy without that.

In his current mood, tired and disappointed because he had just spent another couple of months doing something others would try to undo almost immediately, he could be easily seduced. Arianne knew the subtle signs telling her that in this moment, he was particularly vulnerable to his attraction to her. But it would not solve anything in the long term. She kept rubbing, suddenly startled by just how much this aspect of their marriage – taking care of him like any ordinary wife would – appealed to her more than the balance of power that was always slanted in her favour. We could have been happy even if he was the one with the power, she thought and smiled.

"Come to bed," Alric said after a while, sleepily; without saying anything, Arianne did so, blowing the candle off, surprised and elated when he drew her close without thinking. Before, he had always tried to keep to his side of the bed, no matter where they ended up in their sleep. "I've missed you," he murmured as she cuddled up to him.

He's never been the one for loneliness either. Deep inside, they were both creatures who longed closeness. They could achieve it physically with many others; but the emotional closeness, the one that filled their hearts to the brim they could only find in each other. And that made physical contact even more fulfilling.

"Go to sleep," she said. "You need some rest. I am relieving you of any major duties for the next month."

He laughed softly. "I've been doing nothing but resting for six months. Seven, almost."

"This wasn't rest."

Only Alric would consider the months he had spent fighting to recover his health rest. And he still hadn't achieved that entirely.

"Whatever," she replied, making herself more comfortable against his chest. "You won't be doing anything exacting until you can sweep both Elia and Oberyn in your arms without feeling pain."

"Damned woman," he mumbled but without real anger. His lids were growing heavy. Soon, he slept.

The fever came back this night. Arianne was not surprised since it presented often when he was tired and in low spirits. The first time she had witnessed it, in the night after he returned for the Council Session, she had been desperately scared but with time, she had come to realize that as excruciating as they were to him – they were excruciating to her as well, - those spells did not pose any danger to him in the long run. Tonight, she didn't even think of summoning Maester Caleotte – she already knew that maesters couldn't do a thing for Alric, save for giving him milk of poppy or vinsonge that would made him sleep for the night and the next day, with the fever coming back the following night anyway. It was better just to let it run its course and be done with.

Through his fits of shivering and burning, Arianne had come to be reminded of the worst periods in their lives, their children's deaths, the Black Wedding that had ended up with the bride, Alric's own sister, being brutally raped in full view of hundreds, and Naeryn's birth amidst a storm of rumours and fears, their constant fight with those who sought to undermine them. She came to know the Stepstones, too, the brutality of the pirates, brutality that had stunned even Alric, never an easy one to shake. She realized the extent to which she had hurt him. In the daylight, he could rationally explain it all with the logic of mere human failings – the Seven knew that they both have their fair share of those! In the fire of his fever, though, reason left him, leaving only emotions and betrayed trust, and the angry fear that he would not be enough for her, that what they had shared for so long would turn out to be insufficient. She heard of his regrets of being unable to help those he loved most…

As she always did, Arianne drew his head to her breast, held him tight and whispered until her voice grew hoarse of sunlight and smooth sea, of nourishing rivers and rich harvests, of love and certainty, and even of a future when learned men could make hands for little girls who had been born without ones.

When the dawn started turning their bedchamber into a huge pale-pink rose, Alric woke up, white and weak, but lucid. "It's been a hard night for you," he breathed. "I am sorry."

She smiled a little. "It's been harder for you," she replied. "Do you want something? Some water, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "Just stay here."

She rose on her elbow, one hand on his waist, and looked at him steadily, thoroughly. A faint note of sadness rose in her heart. In the morning light, she could see the pale outlines of a future, the boy she had known and loved all her life grown to a man and headed for old age. His skin was still smooth and olive but she could see the hint of lines that, in a few years, would become visible to everyone. His eyes were not as clear at waking up as they had used to be, even without the fever. He was strong and skilled still but now it demanded more effort. Arianne drew a finger across his cheek. She could not pretend that the fire burning between them had not faded a little but there was life, a history that only grew with the passing of years. She did not want anyone else in her bed, not when it meant she could lose him.

Alric immediately felt the change in her mood, tried to rise and failed when she brought his hand to her lips. "I want to stay here," she said, looking him in the eye. "But I want you to stay here, too, my love, not run away from me. For how long are you going to punish me… and yourself?"

She saw the inner fight writ on his face and ended it before he had the chance: she leaned over and pressed her lips to his. After a moment of hesitation, he gave her the reply she hoped he would, without uttering a word.

After, she curled up against him, felt his hand stroking the hair from her cheek. She hadn't felt so content since before he had left for the Stepstones, before she had met the boy she now wished she had never laid her eyes upon.

"Is what we have so insignificant that you felt the need to bring others into our lives?" his voice came, soft and subdued.

She pressed his hand against her back. "There was never anyone else, Alric."

His hand tightened against her temple. "And the Reach boy?"

She sighed. "That was a failing, I'll give you that. But it was a failing in judgment, not a failing in feelings. You have no idea how often I curse the day I first laid eyes on him. He was never a threat to you in any respect, my love, you must believe me…"

A long silence followed but it was not an uncomfortable one. Guilt, flaws and failings flew like a river, heavy and clotted but running anyway. Crawling, maybe. He held her closer. "We've made a mull of it, haven't we?" he finally spoke.

She rubbed her face against his skin, licked a drop of sweat. The smell of him was so familiar and comforting. "I'd say so," she agreed. "So what? How are we going to proceed from now on? I found out that the idea of sharing you has started… bothering me."

He laughed, detecting the faint trace of disdain in her voice. "You won't have to," he said. "Ever. But I am warning you, Arianne, you'll have to keep to one bed, too."

She drew back to give him an incredulous look. "I have!" she exclaimed. "While you haven't, I can bet on it."

Alric shook his head dismissively. "It doesn't count," he said. "You did it only to draw me back. But I'll keep you to your promise from now on. One bed, Arianne. No matter how long we're apart. I want you to consider carefully before answering. Can you do this?"

She didn't need to consider at all. "As long as this bed is yours," she said.

They stared at each other as if they saw each other's face for first time. Then, they reached for each other once again and let the morning light wash away any guilt, any fear, anything but the newfound feeling of belonging.

The End


End file.
